Dear Enemy

Well, my dear, my heart just simply didn't beat for as much as a minute.

I thought of those seventeen babies up under that roof, and I couldn't

swallow. I finally managed to get my shaking knees to work again, and I

dashed back to the hall, grabbing my automobile coat as I ran.

I drummed on Betsy's and Miss Matthews' and Miss Snaith's doors, just as

Mr. Witherspoon, who had also been wakened by the light, came tumbling

upstairs three steps at a time, struggling into an overcoat as he ran.

"Get all the children down to the dining room, babies first," I gasped.

"I'll turn in the alarm."

He dashed on up to the third floor while I ran to the telephone--and oh,

I thought I'd never get Central! She was sound asleep.

"The John Grier Home is burning! Turn in the fire alarm and rouse the

village. Give me 505," I said.

In one second I had the doctor. Maybe I wasn't glad to hear his cool,

unexcited voice!

"We're on fire!" I cried. "Come quick, and bring all the men you can!"

"I'll be there in fifteen minutes. Fill the bathtubs with water and put

in blankets." And he hung up.

I dashed back to the hall. Betsy was ringing our fire bell, and Percy

had already routed out his Indian tribes in dormitories B and C.

Our first thought was not to stop the fire, but to get the children to a

place of safety. We began in G, and went from crib to crib, snatching a

baby and a blanket, and rushing them to the door, and handing them out

to the Indians, who lugged them downstairs. Both G and F were full of

smoke, and the children so dead asleep that we couldn't rouse them to a

walking state.

Many times during the next hour did I thank Providence--and Percy

Witherspoon--for those vociferous fire drills we have suffered weekly.

The twenty-four oldest boys, under his direction, never lost their heads

for a second. They divided into four tribes, and sprang to their posts

like little soldiers.

Two tribes helped in the work of clearing the dormitories and keeping

the terrified children in order. One tribe worked the hose from the

cupola tank until the firemen came, and the rest devoted themselves to

salvage. They spread sheets on the floor, dumped the contents of lockers

and bureau drawers into them, and bundled them down the stairs. All of

the extra clothes were saved except those the children had actually been

wearing the day before, and most of the staff's things. But clothes,

bedding--everything belonging to G and F went. The rooms were too full

of smoke to make it safe to enter after we had got out the last child.